Free Your Scandalous Ways by Loretta Chase Page A

deal,” he said. “In my youth, I fell in with a very bad lot.” Absolutely true. He preferred to keep as close to the truth as possible. So much simpler that way. “The family packed me off into the army, where criminal and violent tendencies can be properly and gainfully employed.” Also true.
    â€œViolence, yes,” she said. “But poison? I’d always heard it was a woman’s tool.”
    â€œI come from a long line of poisoners,” he said. “Mother’s got some Borgia as well as Medici trickling through her veins.” As he started to set down his glass on the table next to her, he caught a whiff of a light scent. Jasmine?
    He carefully placed the glass and straightened, resisting the temptation to lean in closer, to find out if the scent was in her hair or on her skin. “And you, I see, come from a long line of women, eternally curious. I should be happy to…satisfy…your curiosity, but I am obliged to report the incident to the Austrian governor—as I shouldhave done immediately. They are very strict, as you know, about their rules. Then I must be abroad early. The monks expect me punctually at ten. I shall send you my monograph on popular murder methods of the sixteenth century. My sisters say it makes excellent bedtime reading.”
    â€œWhy don’t you bring it yourself?” she said. “You might read it to me.”
    In bed was left unsaid.
    It didn’t need to be said. The smile lingered at her mouth and the green gaze slid over him, as smooth as water.
    He wanted to dive in, even though he was sure she’d drown him there.
    Tie me to the mast, he thought.
    â€œ Devo andare, ” he said. I must go. “ Buona notte, signora. ”
    â€œ Buon giorno, ” she said. “It’s nearly dawn.”
    â€œ A rivederci, ” he said.
    And before she could tempt him to argue whether it was night or morning or persuade him to watch the sun rise with her, he made his exit.
    He was sweating.

Chapter 4
    â€™T is a sad thing, I cannot choose but say,
    And all the fault of that indecent sun,
    Who cannot leave alone our helpless clay,
    But will keep baking, broiling, burning on,
    That howsoever people fast and pray,
    The flesh is frail, and so the soul undone:
    What men call gallantry, and gods adultery,
    Is much more common where the climate’s sultry.
    Lord Byron
Don Juan, Canto the First
    The following afternoon
    M r. Cordier’s treatise had been delivered while Francesca was still abed, though not asleep. She’d spent most of the night—or what was left of it—awake, wanting to kill him—which effectively took her mind off the men who’d tried to kill her.
    She wrote one short note to the comte de Magny, briefly explaining what had happened and assuring him she was unharmed. After telling Arnaldoto have it delivered without loss of time, she took up the treatise.
    At present, still in her dressing gown, reclining upon the chaise longue of her private parlor, she read:
    In fact, the second husband of Lucrezia Borgia was strangled because he had, quite innocently, become a political liability to her brother Cesare Borgia. The murder took place in the couple’s apartments. Lucrezia did her utmost to save her twenty-year-old spouse, to no avail. Long afterwards, she remained inconsolable. Her father, sick of listening to her weeping, sent her out of Rome.
    â€œSo that was my problem,” Francesca muttered. “No brother.”
    â€œSignora, here is Signorina Sab—”
    â€œOh, get out of the way,” Giulietta said, pushing past Arnaldo. She hurried to Francesca’s side, knelt on the footstool, and took her hand. “It is all over Venice,” she said. “Someone tried to kill you. It cannot be true.”
    Francesca threw down the pamphlet. “That much is true. Whatever else you’ve heard is bound to be less than accurate.” In ruthless detail she